After the Fact
by IDIC88
Summary: Tony returns from space or what happened right after the he and Nebula reached the Avengers compound. H/C, hurt Tony, some whump
1. Chapter 1

They didn't even make it halfway across the mowed meadow back to the Avengers building before Pepper felt Tony get heavier and heavier. His arm was over her shoulders and it had turned from an embrace to supporting him.

She frowned, tried to see his face in the dark, but Tony's head was hanging low. The only thing she received was his wheezing.

"Tony?" she asked, glancing over his back to Steve, who also must have felt the man's last reserves being depleted by having to walk.

Steve gave her a worried glance and lifted the inventor's other arm over his own shoulder keep the other man upright.

"You need a break? We could get a wheelchair," Pepper offered, careful they weren't overheard.

"No. I'm fine," Tony huffed, his voice thin and breathless.

Pepper realised Bruce had fallen back and started to speak to someone. She hoped he had called medical because Tony became weaker by the minute.

She knew Steve could probably carry Tony without even breaking a sweat, but they both knew the genius too well to know he'd fight them tooth and nails before allowing it.

When Tony started to pant like a marathon runner, she slowed down and both Tony and Steve had to do the same.

With her free hand, she lifted his chin up so she could see his eyes.

Tony's gaze was empty but he was aware enough to avoiding her questioning gaze deliberately.

"Can we please _not_ stop? I _so_ need a shower."

"Yeah, Mr Stank, you definitely do!" Rhodey called, catching up with them.

Tony giggled and it sounded a bit frantic.

Pepper could see the effort it took him to slowly put one foot in front of the other.

"Maybe we should..." she started.

"Don't even say it," Tony interrupted her. "You know what I need? One of my latest spare suits - this one is damaged." He looked down towards his chest, where the faint blue light glowed the way it always did.

Pepper assumed he desperately needed iron man to feel save at the moment.

She had so many questions about what had happened, she didn't know where to start.

Tony had not yet asked who else besides Peter had turned into dust. And she was glad he hadn't.

There were things more important right now than facing the horrific list of people they had lost.

In the distance, she saw a few people leave the building with a gurney, then head towards them, leaving the gurney by the door.

Tony must have missed it because he stubbornly moved on.

Some long moments later, the medics reached them. They were carrying a mobile oxygen supply and a large first aid bag.

Pepper and Steve stopped, and only then, the weak man between them lifted his head.

"Oh, please. Can we just not do that?"

"You're breathing as if you're having an asthma attack, Tony," Steve provided.

Bruce made a hand gesture that made it clear he wanted the oxygen mask. One of the medics handed it over and Bruce immediately placed it over his nose and mouth and fastened the elastic strings behind his head.

Stubbornly, Tony started to walk again, clearly not happy about interruption.

"Whoa," Bruce protested but stepped out of the way. The medic hurried to carry the oxygen container after them.

"At least this way I can't smell myself," Tony mumbled.

"What, spaceships don't have showers?" Pepper asked, aware that right now the man she loved was vulnerable and needed to cover it up no matter how ridiculous the conversation.

"Couldn't waste water for washing," Tony answered instead of making an airy remark, which kind of showed how much he was at the end of his tether.

.

They made it past the gurney and into the lit building.

Only when they reached the common room and Tony pulled his arms off Pepper's and Steve's shoulders, she realised how lost he must feel.  
He certainly looked like it standing in the middle of the large room.

The brutal bright light underlined his haggard features and the malnourishment. The lack of sustenance had turned his skin an unhealthy colour and the dark circles under his eyes showed how stressful 23 days of slowly running out of air and food must have been – on top of knowing half of humanity was gone and having to witness people turning into ashes.

Tony withered if he couldn't work on _something_ when he was depressed. The boredom must have been an additional source of stress.

"Tony, I want you in medical," Bruce winked them to go on.

But Tony silently shook his head and removed the oxygen mask from his face, then shoved it roughly back at the medic, who had the brains to back off.

"I need a shower first. Then a cheeseburger. After that I might be ready to face the shit."

"Please, you can't have a shower in your state. You might fall over. I want you on liquids and parenteral nutrition for starters," Bruce tried.

"No," Tony just said and turned towards the living spaces instead.

Bruce stepped in his way but didn't try to touch him.

"Tony?" he asked in a gentle tone.

Then it must have dawned on him that the genius just needed a break, because his gaze met Pepper's.

She nodded, although not liking the idea either.

Everyone was aware that Tony was very careful to hide signs of weakness even after all the fighting they had done together, especially when it came to emotional issues.

Tony wearily shuffled past Bruce and headed towards his apartment. Pepper grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, then followed him.

"Any intake - very _very_ slowly! Just a few sips at a time," Bruce advised her.

"I'll make sure."


	2. Chapter 2

Tony had barely made it out of the common room when he realised that discarding the oxygen mask might have been a mistake. The spurt of energy the artificial supply had given him was fading, as was his strength. After a few more relatively steady steps, he started to stumble down the hall.

Although he tried to prevent it at first, then fought it desperately, his mind continued to plunge into chaos in slow mo. The fact that he had given up hope to make it back alive, but found he actually made it hitting home with unexpected intensity and a messy spectrum of overwhelming feelings he couldn't process.

He was home.

The nagging question if this was just a dream was there, made him doubt if what he saw was real.

Behind him, he heard Peppers steps. She kept her distance, followed slowly, gave him space.

The relief that Pepper had _not_ turned into ashes made his knees even weaker and the sounds of her steps was the best sound he had heard in a long time.

Reassuring and safe.

It took quite an effort to walk on.

Twenty-three days of longing for a shower had been enough. He wanted it _now_. Wanted out of those damn clothes that didn't belong to him, that smelled of desperation and infection.

After what felt like hours, he finally reached his apartment. The door opened automatically to let him in.

Inside, he had to lean against a wall to keep himself standing.

Before he could enter the bathroom, Pepper appeared behind him and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder to stop him.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Probably not, but I need it."

She had to help Tony into the bathroom, then left and he hoped she'd give him some more privacy.

However, the moment he slipped out of his trousers and shoes, she came back carrying a chair.

"Please can you just not..."

"No," she interrupted. "As you said before I caught you doing worse. There is nothing I haven't seen yet. So, why don't you just have a shower and allow me to be happy about having you back... I thought you were dead, Tony!"

He heard the tears in her voice and felt his own distress rise. He recorded messages to her in the hope that she was still alive. It was one of the few things that had kept him going in the past weeks.

He made a step towards her, hugged her, then winced when a cloud of his own smell rose up due to the movement.

"I'm gonna be sick if I have to endure my smell any longer. Please go and let me do this," he begged, trying to spare her the view of his emaciated body. In addition, he was sure she would freak out over the poorly healed stab wound. He was in no state to go through that at the moment.

"Alright, two conditions. One: you drink a bit of this first, two: the door stays wide open," she held up a bottle.

Nodding absentmindedly, he allowed her to push him into the chair.

"Where did you get that shirt?" she asked. It was a weak try to make small talk while she unscrewed the bottle. She handed him the water and he carefully took a first tiny sip.

"This tastes odd," Tony looked at the bottle, ignoring her question.

It was the same water they always ordered.

"It's the usual brand, the one you like best," she answered. "Let me try it?"

She took a small sip and shook her head, "Tastes perfectly normal."

It must be his taste buds then, they always acted up when he was severely sick or injured.

Or maybe drinking recycled water in a freaking alien ship that was acquired from god knows where had affected his gustatory sense.

"Get me some coffee – or soda," he pleaded.

"No. But you can have some tea."

Tony brought himself to take another sip.

It tasted as sandy and empty as the first. He knew he was thirsty but this didn't feel as if it would ever satisfy his thirst no matter how much he'd drink.

"You know what? That actually sounds really good. Can you make some tea?" he asked.

She looked at him oddly, probably aware that it was another try to get rid of her.

With a sigh, she finally left him alone.

Tony stood up carefully to minimize the pain and grabbed the largest towel he could find. Before he stepped into the floor level shower, he tapped the environmental control panel and switched the glass stall from translucent to opaque. The bright light in the compound had started to give him a headache already and he dimmed the bathroom light and turned it blue. A moment later he realised he had just recreated the environment of Quill's ship.

He sighed, not sure he wanted it this way.

On the other hand, the blue glow that had lit the spaceship had emanated from one of the most awesome things he had ever seen. He was probably one of the handful of human beings who had ever seen a nebular up close.

It was one of the few good things from his twenty-three days in space, albeit the emptiness around the ship had been horrific. He would never look at a picture of a nebular or galaxy without being gripped by the existential angst that had accompanied him for the past three weeks.

The view had been both, spectacular and unnerving. Just a few hours ago, he had laid down to sleep in its glow, sure he would never wake.

The emotions started to overwhelm him.

It was all too much.

He heard himself gasp and gritted his teeth.

It had all happened so fast.

When that blonde woman had appeared outside the ship he was sure she must be a hallucination of his oxygen-deprived mind.

In a desperate try to shake the distress that was building, he hit the switch to start the water. Sensory input sometimes helped to keep the panic at bay.

He hastily undressed all the way. The damaged armour housing was still on his chest and he unceremoniously plucked it off.

It had turned into a sentimental relict after the suit was damaged beyond repair, but he hadn't managed to part from it before. Besides a few coins and his phone, it had been one of the few personal belongings - even familiar objects - he had had with him in space.

Still uneasy to part with it, he adhered the armour to the outside of the glass stall and stepped under the rainfall showerhead.

It felt good.

So fucking good.

Tony just stood there for quite some time, enjoying the clean water and the sensation of it on his skin.

Until at some point he realised he was panting.

The hot water was not good for his blood pressure. He was forced to stretch out his arms to stabilise himself on both glass walls for a few moments.

The soap dispensers were within easy reach and he started to lather himself. His hair was so greasy it still felt odd after he washed it the second time. Somehow, it felt wrong.

So did his body when he washed it.

His rips were visible and every joint felt knobblier than it should. Bones were protruding everywhere and the skin felt thin and papery.

Nebula's improvised field surgery scar felt awful under his fingertips. He evaded looking at it or touching it at all. It was as much a mental scar as a physical one. That particular pain seemed to have bounded with the moment Peter had turned into dust under his hands.

The still present pain was a permanent trigger whenever he made a false movement. Everything that involved bending in the middle was still out of question.

After so many years of fighting PTSD, he had recently added a shitload of new trauma and triggers.

While he tried to decide if he wanted to do a second round of washing, his body suddenly became unbearably heavy.

He managed not to fall by leaning against the tiled wall. Tightness was working its way up from his stomach to his throat and he shook his head in denial.

Don't lose it now!

He squeezed his eyes shut while his body slid down the wall. It was more of a controlled fall than anything else.

For a moment, he sat on his haunches and decided he could stay like this for a bit until he gathered the strength to stand up again.

Instead, his body slowly tilted sideways and he found himself half sitting, half on his side on the ground. He used his left hand to stabilize himself to prevent falling face first onto the ground.

The movement hurt and he felt his face convulse into an anguished grimace.

He tried to relax, but instead, his contorted features seemed to have opened some emotional floodgates.

Desperately trying to fight the horrific emotions that exploded in his mind, he sat there.

Small soundless gasping sobs leaving him but he barely noticed them.

He had no control over it, was paralysed by it all - seeing Peter die, being critically injured, slowly dying of oxygen starvation, learning Pepper, Bruce, Rhodey, were alive and the snap had in fact erased half of all life on earth. It was an awful mixture of a string of traumata topped with some of the best news he could have hoped for.

Relief was mixing with horror and guilt about the fact that he had been lucky when so many others hadn't been.

There was also the anxiety that the briefing would mean learning how Vision died and who else had turned into ashes. Probably everyone who hadn't greeted him at the compound.

When that thought sank in, he felt anxiety hit him like a brick wall.

He had had several panic attacks while onboard the Benatar with Nebula and had made it quite clear he wanted privacy when it happened. She left him alone.

The memories of curling up in a corner of the small ship losing himself in anguish until his exhausted body switched him off made it worse.

Panic blossomed and he realised he was actually crying when the pain in his head exploded and every jerky exhale agitated the wound in his side.

Calm.

He needed calm and breathing and keeping it together.

But as it was with panic attacks, this need was completely floored by the sheer anguish of the situation.

At least he wasn't making too much noise.

Then he felt he was losing contact with his body, started to feel numb – physically and mentally.

This wasn't the first time he realised he was starting to dissociate but this time he didn't fight it.

Out of strength, he retreated into himself.

All physical sensations ebbed away.

His mind created the bubble he needed to escape from reality.

It felt like the state between sleep and wakefulness, a warm smooth numbness encasing his mind.

He floated in the void, carried by the watery static surrounding him.

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_I'd be over the moon if you leave a review._


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